Leaving for Stanford
by saltedshotgun
Summary: Weird little chunks and pieces about how Sam left his family and the impact it had on them all. It can be read as a sequel of sorts for my previous fic, Easy like mornings.


**Leaving for Stanford  
**Dean, Sam, John. Gen.

_Summary:_ Weird little chunks and pieces about how Sam left his family and the impact it had on them all.  
_Notes:_ Fic is unbeta'd, english is not my first language. It could be read as a sequel of sorts for my previous fic, Easy like mornings.  
_Disclaimer: _I only wish they were mine.

* * *

Dean is still down with the craziest flu Sam has ever seen when he helps Sam fill out his college applications. Dean's face is pale, with dark circles under his eyes and matted hair sticking out in all directions, the tip of his tongue out between his chapped lips while he double-checks the forms after Sam filled them out.

Sam remembers how Dean freaked out when he found out Sam even _contemplated_ going to college and he wonders what made his brother help him instead of telling Dad and sabotaging Sam's whole plan of leaving.

"This one looks cool," Dean says and hands the papers back to Sam.

They are silent for a while, interrupted only by a soft cough from Dean.

"Will you ever shake that thing off? Seriously, Dean. It's been weeks," Sam says and Dean just waves his hand dismissvely.

"Fuck my flu, Sam. I'm fine," he says and he _does_ sound fine, his voice is only rough around the edges now instead of the wheezing rasp Dean had going on for the past two weeks or so.

Sam seals the envelopes with his applications in silence.

"If you could pick," Dean says suddenly and his voice breaks on the last word. A week ago he would get annoyed but now he just clears his throat and continues. "If you could pick, where'd you wanna go?"

Sam thinks about it and the truth is that he would go anywhere, just anywhere, if it meant getting away from where he was.

"Stanford," he says and Dean nods.

"So that's where you'll go," he says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and smirks up at Sam.

* * *

Sam comes home from school to find Dean sitting behind the table with his brows furrowed and his expression thoughtful. It stops Sam in his tracks because it's so rare to actually see Dean deeply in thoughts. To see Dean let himself be _seen_ deeply in thoughts.

Dean snaps out of it quickly and an unreadable poker-face, the one Dean only has when he's either hunting or hiding someting from Dad, replaces the unusual pensiveness.

"There's a letter for you," Dean says and slides a simple white letter towards Sam. Even from the door Sam can see it's from Stanford but he can't read what it says and Dean – of course – already got rid of the envelope.

And right in that moment Sam has no idea if he's accepted or not. He stares at Dean but his brother's face remains unreadable, his eyes unmoving, his lips flat. No twitch of the corners of Dean's mouth and Dean shouldn't be that good at hiding things from _Sam_, he shouldn't be –

Sam feels cold sweat on the back of his neck. He needs to see what the letter says, needs to see it so bad he almost dashes forwards to grab at it. But he's scared because what if he's not accepted? This is his shot at normal, his shot at what he wants and what if he failed?

Dean's eyebrows shoot up a little. "Aren't you going to read it?" he asks and Sam swallows.

"Did _you_ read it?"

Dean narrows his eyes at Sam. "Of course I did."

"And what does it say?" Sam asks while he drops his backpack to the floor and takes a few reluctant steps forward. Dean watches him for a few seconds and then takes a deep, slow breath as he reaches for the letter. He unfolds it, agonizingly slowly and Sam can't for the life of him tell if Dean's just making him miserable on purpose or if he's simply hesitating because Sam really did fail and oh god for a second Sam _knows_ he did.

Then Dean starts reading. "Dear Sam Winchester," he says, his voice deeper than it usually is, "you are so stupid we decided to burn your application, your exams, your essays and everything. Don't you dare contact us again, sincerely – "

He doesn't finish because Sam yelps and runs at him. Dean stands up faster than he should be able to, given his three broken ribs from the encounter with a poltergeist few weeks ago. He stretches as high as he can and Sam almost has to climb him to get to the papers, even though they are practically at the same height now.

"You are such a jerk," Sam yells, pausing after each word grabbing for his letter. Dean's laughing now, in little quick erratic breaths.

"Calm down Sam, or you'll rip your own fucking acceptance letter apart, what would you do then – _ow_."

Sam plays a little dirty and elbows Dean in the abdomen, only a little but still hard enough to almost bend Dean in half. He grabs his letter and finally, _finally finally finally_, reads it with his very own eyes. Dean's moaning in pain and clutching at his stomach as he watches his little brother from the corners of his eyes.

"Congrats Sammy, I guess," he says with a raspy voice, oddly out of breath but Sam is so ecstatic right now he doesn't even register Dean resigned tone.

* * *

It was supossed to be Sam's last hunt. A werewolf in Louisiana, a piece of cake for the Winchesters.

Except nothing is ever a piece of cake for the Winchesters because the Winchesters never catch a break. The only break they get is the tree that breaks Dean's flight through the air when the werewolf gets a swing at him from his uncovered side and tosses him with more strenght than Sam has ever seen in a werewolf.

Sam and his father yell Dean's name at the same time - the only unison they are capable of.

The werewolf runs into the night.

"You stay with your brother," Dad barks and sets off after it. Sam doesn't need to be told twice before he's at Dean's side. His brother is an unmoving heap of bloody scraped skin and muscle on the ground but he's breathing and that's enough to calm Sam down a little.

"Dean!" he shouts as he bends over him.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean moans and his voice is weak but Sam could scream and dance with happiness when he hears it. Talking is a good sign, talking is always a good sign. "Stop yelling into my ear, dude."

"Right, sorry. Can you move?"

Dean groans and Sam can see him flexing and unflexing his limbs, one by one, moving them slowly, testing them.

"All clear," Dean says after few silent minutes, his breathing ragged, "help me turn onto my back?"

"I dunno man, I don't think you should move _that_ much," Sam says. The flashlight he has is weak and Dean's own is laying broken few feet away from them but even in the muted light Sam can see Dean roll his eyes.

"Jesus," he says and takes a deep breath and before Sam can stop him Dean jerks his whole body sideways and rolls onto his back.

"What the fuck, Dean!"

Dean's eyes are shut tight and so is his jaw but he moans, "I'm fine, Sammy, I'm okay," and as long as Dean's talking Sam can refrain from panicking completely.

"Where's Dad?" Dean asks and Sam looks in the vague direction of where he last saw their father.

"He went off after the werewolf," he says and Dean swears and tries to sit up.

"How many times do I have to tell him – " he forces through his teeth and collapses onto the ground again when Sam only lightly pushes against his shoulder.

"I think my ribs might be broken," Dean says after a minute of heavy panting and swallows, "again."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dean," Sam says and his hands hover above Dean's stomach and chest and shoulders. He doesn't know what to do because all he wants is to reach out and feel Dean's heartbeat and make sure that he's really breathing and alive but Sam knows that if he actually did, Dean would make sure he wasn't the only one hurt in ten-mile radius.

"And my leg," Dean adds with a pained smirk on his face, looking at Sam with his eyes growing wide with pain as the adrenaline starts to wears off. Sam laughs bitterly.

"We better hope Dad comes back soon, 'cause I don't think I can carry you," he tells Dean.

"No one's fucking carrying me," Dean snaps and slaps Sam's forearm with the back of his hand lightly.

"Yeah, you're walking out of here on your own broken legs," Sam smirks and gets another light slap from Dean.

"It's just one leg, bitch."

They wait in silence that's only interrupted by Dean's heavy breathing and Sam's occasional low murmur meant to calm his brother down.

Then they hear footsteps and both their hearts stop.

"Where's your shotgun, Sam?" Dean whispers and starts patting the ground next to him searching for his own.

"Fuck," Sam says and turns, waving his flashlight around uselessly because his gun is nowhere in sight and the footsteps are getting nearer now and Sam literally prays to God that it's Dad and not the werewolf.

"Turn off the light, Sam, turn off the light!" Dean hisses and pats Sam's thigh repeatedly.

"Boys?"

Sam feels the air leave his lungs at the same time Dean sucks in a sharp breath.

"Boys, you alright?"

Dean says, "yes, sir," exactly when Sam says, "no!" which earns him a dirty look from his older brother.

"Is Dean okay?" Dad asks as he jogs towards them and kneels down next to to Sam.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Dean mumbles and glares at father.

"He says his ribs might be broken," Sam says and Dean shoots him another look. "And his leg," Sam adds.

Dad has no problem with patting Dean down to check for injuries and Dean hisses and starts breathing in odd fits and jerks his body away.

"Damn it, Dean!" Dad swears, "can't you be at least a little careful sometimes?" He sounds pissed and Sam can feel his blood boiling inside his veins because Dean is fucking laying in a broken heap on the ground and all Dad can do is tell him off for not doing his job right.

"It's not like it was his fault, Dad," Sam says and his voice is cold.

"No, it was yours, too," Dad says without even turning to him and that just does Sam in. The litany of accusations leaves his mouth before he can even think or stop it and Dad, being as hot-headed as Sam is, joins right in. It takes only a few seconds for the two of them to turn this into a full-blown shouting match only with muted, hushed voices but in the absolute silence of the night the effect is the same.

"Could you two maybe tone it down a notch and help me out?" Dean asks weakly and drops his head to the ground in defeat.

They can't, not really, because once they started it's hard for either Dad or Sam to quit. They help Dean to his feet and they half carry, half drag him to the car, but they don't stop fighting, not even for a second.

Sam can't wait to get away from here. Whatever 'here' means.

* * *

Sam kept postponing telling Dad for as long as he could so of course it came down to him standing in the opened door with his bags packed saying, "I'm leaving for Stanford, Dad."

Not literally, of course, but very nearly. And Sam did expect a fight but this – this exceeded even his wildest dreams, his nightmares.

Because Dad _is_ hot-headed and stubborn and demanding and mean more often than not but he rarely shouts or raises his voice at all. He sometimes does at Sam but never to the point of actually yelling and Dean always recieves the disappointed silent treatment.

But now, with Sam ready to stomp out of the door forever and for good, Dad goes ballistic. And Sam is quick to follow and things are being said that make Sam even more adamant in running as fast and far as he possibly can.

Dean stands next to the couch he was previously laying on with his broken leg stretched out. He keeps glancing from Dad to Sam and back, his eyes wide and huge, his mouth gaping. Sam knows his brother must be hurting, even doped up on painkillers, but he can't care enough right now to stop.

He deserved this one last fight. He deserves to finally say all he's been holding inside all these years and honest to God Sam doesn't even realize the things he says that are meant to hurt his father might be hurting Dean too.

So Sam shouts, Dad shouts back, throws around a thing or two and Dean stands caught in the middle of it like a stranger over-hearing a lovers' quarrel, except it's so much closer to him then he'd like.

And then John shouts, "if you walk out of that door then don't ever come back!" and Sam shouts, "fine!" and slams the door behind him.

John shouts, "fine then!" and makes his escape towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him with just as much ferocity as Sam. And Dean, with his heart in his throat clogging his airways and nearly making him gag, limps towards the door out as fast as he can, wincing everytime his broken leg makes contact with the floor.

Sam is standing next to the Impala and he's breathing hard through flared nostrils and if he notices Dean coming outside he doesn't show it. Dean leans against the wall and closes his eyes, willing the pain in his leg and the sick feeling in his stomach away.

"I wanted to drive you to the bus station but I don't see how that'd work right now," Dean says after a while when he trusts his voice not to break.

"Maybe it's better this way," Sam says and his voice is ice cold, his tone even. "Maybe I don't want you to do everything for me anymore. Maybe I'm sick of it," he says and each words hurts Dean like a punch to the gut. "Maybe I need to get away from you, too."

"Sammy," Dean says and swallows, closing his eyes. The wall doesn't seem to be supporting his weight at all now and Dean's knees are just about ready to buckle.

"I don't know, it's choking me, Dad's constant orders and your constant blind following and you taking care of me all the time, I just can't do this. I need to get away."

Sam is rambling now but what he's saying makes some kind of a twisted sense in Dean's head. Because everyone Dean loves always leaves him, one way or another, and it's fucking ironic that Dean would actually drive them away by trying to keep them with him.

"I'm not stopping you," he says simply, "I'm not even trying."

He hopes that Sam understands this is just another way to show him that Dean loves him.

"Take the Impala and leave her at the station, Dad will pick her up later," he says and Sam sniffs. Dean can see his mouth twitching and wonders what it is that Sam wants to say. And honestly, right now it could be anything from an apology to declarance of hatred and whatever it is, Dean doesn't want to hear it.

Sam probably knows that so he just opens the door and gets in the car.

"Be careful," Dean says hastily, "and call when you get to Stanford. Just so I know that you're... Just so I know."

Sam doesn't move for a few seconds and then nods, shuts the door and drives away.

Dean slowly, carefully slides down the wall and hangs his head.

* * *

Sam drives faster then he normally would and he feels like crying. It keeps getting better, though, with each passing minute. It feels like something heavy is being lifted from his chest, pulled out of his stomach.

Sam almost feels like laughing.

* * *

It's long before Dean's leg heals and he can drive that Dad finds a hunt and leaves.

"I'd take you with me but we can't leave the Impala here," Dad says and snaps his mouth shut the moment he realizes he sounds like the car is more important to him then Dean is.

The truth is that Dean doesn't even really care. He just hums in affirmation that he heard and keeps staring at the TV he isn't paying any attention to anyway.

"It's another two weeks and something before you can take the cast off, so after you do you call me and we'll meet up, alright?" Dad says and Dean nods.

"Right."

"Okay then," Dad sighs and pats his own thighs awkwardly. "There's money on the table. Should be more than enough."

They both stay silent for a moment.

"You gonna be okay?" Dad asks.

"Sure," Dean says, "there's no one to take care of now, right?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it does.

"How about you just take care of yourself?" Dad says after a few seconds of silence. Dean just shrugs.

"I'm serious," Dad says. "Call me when you're good to go."

He leaves Dean sitting in the empty motel room. Dean can't say he's surprised.

* * *

There's a weird sort of freedom in driving a car. It's the hottest part of the summer and the Impala's windows are rolled all the way down. The wind is roaring around Dean's head and everything seems so much better this way, when he's not stuck in a shitty motel room with a busted leg and more time to think than Dean ever wanted.

He turns his head to the passanger's seat and the smile on his face drops right off when he sees the empty space. Sam should be sitting there except Sam ran away from them, pointing out very fucking effectively that he doesn't want to have much to do with them anymore.

Dean rolls the windows up and drives in silence, with lips drawn tight and stinging eyes.

* * *

Dean and Dad do meet up eventually, but it's never for long. They are both skilled hunters, capable of taking mostly everything on their own and now that Sam isn't here anymore Dad doesn't need Dean for much.

Dad once said Dean was like the glue of the family, keeping them together.

Dean snorts. Good fucking job on that, Dean. Good fucking job.

* * *

The drives are a fucking agony now that Dean's alone in the car. When Sam was still with them he kept Dean company, always chatting away or reading out his school notes while learning. Now there's always quiet except for the roaring of the Impala's engine, and as much as Dean loves the car it's not quite the same.

He thinks of Dad driving around in his truck listening to music.

Dean pulls out a bunch of old tapes from the trunk the next time he stops, and randomly puts one in.

Dean's always liked music, but never really cared for it. He never really had the urge to listen to anything, not with Sam next to him always talking.

He understands now, though, why Dad loves his classic rock so much. It makes him grin, nod his head to the rhythm, it makes him step on the gas and it generally puts him in a good mood.

Not many things do, nowadays.

So, Dean fucking loves rock music.

* * *

Dean hunts and sometimes, _sometimes_ he calls Sam for help. With research and insight and whatnot simply because Sam is the only person Dean can really turn to since Dad picking his phone is almost as rare as seeing a chupacabra nowadays.

And Sam bitches and moans but he always helps Dean out. And Dean tries to keep it to minimum, only calls his brother when he's getting desperate. Just like today.

Sam picks the phone right before Dean considers hanging up.

"Dean," he says and his voice is clipped. Dean pays no attention to it because catching Sam in a good mood is almost as rare as Dad picking up his phone.

"Hey, Sammy!" he says instead with a cheerful voice, "how are things up there in Cali, huh?"

"Dean – " Sam repeats and then sighs, "actually things are good, thanks for asking."

"Glad to hear it," Dean says and then continues, "okay, listen. I'm hunting this thing in Minnesota and – "

"Dean."

" – something just doesn't add up."

"Dean," Sam tries again but Dean pays it no mind at all and continues.

"Could you maybe look into it for me?"

"No, I couldn't," Sam sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, come on, little brother," Dean coos at him but his smile disappears when Sam says, strict and firm, "I said no, Dean."

"What's wrong?" Dean asks, his mind racing already. The fact that Sam might be considering just not helping him because he has better things to do – like learning and hanging out with his college friends and all that – doesn't even cross Dean's mind.

"Dean, you remember how I left for Stanford?" Sam says and Dean almost, almost rolls his eyes.

"No, I forgot. Remind me again, please?" he says, his tone full of sarcasm.

"Well," Sam continues as if Dean hasn't said anything at all, "I left because I wanted to get away. And when I told you you could call me when you needed something I didn't think you'd bother me all the time – "

Dean jumps in. "Bother you? _All the time?_ Sammy, don't be dramatic."

"I am not, Dean!" Sam barks. "I left because I wanted a normal life and researching day and night for your cases just isn't it, you understand?" Sam's voice is louder now and it rings in Dean's ears. "I've got tests to learn for and classes to prepare for and... I don't have time to be your damn phone advisor," he finishes.

Dean is struck silent and he licks his lips while he wonders how to respond to this. "Sammy, all I'm asking you is – "

"All you're asking me is to be a part-time hunter and I don't wanna," Sam says. "Call someone else, Dean."

"Alright," Dean just says, rendered completely speachless, his voice rough and his mouth dry, "I get it, alright?"

"No, you don't, Dean," Sam says, "stop calling me. Period," and he hangs up.

Dean sits on the hood of the Impala for a few long minutes before he gets in and drives away while blasting Led Zeppelin.

Sam takes a last look into the mirror and he think he would probably feel a lot worse if he didnt have a date tonight. He grabs his jacket and leaves the house to pick up Jessica.

* * *

It's been six months since Sam and Jess started dating when she starts asking him about his family. At first she tells her own stories and Sam listens and smiles sadly and thinks of his brother that he hasn't seen in years and spoke to in months.

However, he never talks and at first Jess never asks. But Sam can see that she's curious in the way her eyes light up every time Sam mentions the family he left.

And one day she asks, "do you miss them?"

Sam remembers Dean asking him the same exact question in slightly different wording ('Will you miss this? Miss us?') and he can almost smell the distinct scent of the Impala's upholstery that meant home to him all these years.

"Sometimes," Sam admits truthfully and prays that Jess drops the topic. But Jess is something else and she never cuts Sam any slack and when she wants something she goes and gets it. And Sam loves this about her but he really, really wishes she would just leave this alone.

"What were they like? Your brother and your father?"

Sam has to think about this for a while too, because he can't exactly say the truth to Jess. About how Dad is obsessed with revenge and hunting the supernatural after his wife burned on the ceiling, and how Dean blindly follows whatever danger Dad leads him to. He can't exactly describe how he was raised in dirty motel rooms by his absent father and a brother who was only four years older than Sam but acted thirty when he was ten and five when he was twenty.

Sam thinks it's sad and ridiculously hilarious at the same time how his family is the sum of their tragedies.

"Dean was kind of a jerk and often made decisions I didn't agree with," Sam says, "but for the longest time he was the only friend I had and... I don't know, Jess. He's just my brother, I grew up with him, how am I supossed to describe him?"

Sam just wants to move away from this topic as fast as possible.

"That sounded like a good description to me," Jess smiles at him but her eyes are concerned. "And you father?"

"My father was a bastard who kept dragging us around and mistreated us," Sam says sternly and knows it sounds harsher to the ears of a stranger then it probably was but he can't forgive Dad, not even after two years apart.

"Is that why you ran away?" Jess asks and her voice is soft.

"No. Not really," Sam shakes his head, "I ran because Dad... He did things I hated and I couldn't just... Watch how he destroyed himself and Dean too."

Jess nods and stares at her hands for a while and then she takes a deep breath and says, "you know, I really hate to bring this up but Sam, if they... If your Dad and your brother are doing something illegal, you should tell someone, because..." Her voice drops in volume. "No one is going to hold it against you, because you were a kid and – "

Sam doesn't know if he's supossed to laugh or cry.

"Jess, Jess, stop," he says, "they're not... Driving around killing people if that's what you think," he laughs nervously and Jess mirrors him.

"Good, because for a while I thought... I don't know, from what you were saying, it sounded... I don't know," she shrugs. "Sorry."

"They're not hurting people, Jess, I swear," Sam says and laughs, his voice high-pitched because Dad and Dean are doing the exact opposite if anything. "They're just... They live a life I don't wanna be a part of."

They are both silent for a while.

"It's really hard to explain," Sam says after a moment and Jess nuzzles against his side.

"It's alright, Sam," she says, "we don't have to talk about it now."

Sam is already terrified of later.

* * *

It's Dean's birthday and he's at the bar, like he usually is. Dad's away on a different hunt and the only person keeping Dean company is a tiny little blond chick named Katie. She's drunk and crawling all over Dean, hanging from his forearm more then Dean would like but to hell with it. He's drunk too and it's his birthday so he has every right to get laid tonight.

"So you're, like, on a road trip?" she asks and bats her eyelashes at him and Dean's very aware of the fact she's dumb but he simply doesn't care. Because her hair is long and her tits are big and her lips are parted and _oh_ Dean can already see this happening.

"You could say that, yeah," he shrugs and gives her a lopsided grin. She wriggles in her seat to lean closer to Dean and he imagines her wriggling like that on his lap in the backseat of the Impala.

"God, that must be awesome," she sighs and licks her lips. "Just driving around, doing whatever you like, no strings attached..."

Dean thinks that it's a little over-glorified version of his life but whatever. 'No strings attached' is just something people say because saying 'you are alone' sounds too harsh and too cruel.

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome."

"Don't you have a family or something?"

Dean takes a deep breath and says, "yeah, I do. But my Dad is... " his voice trails off and he coughs, "he's running his own business and my brother's at college."

"Oh, a smart boy, eh?" she chuckles and it's annoying but Dean's sure she won't have any time to spit that kind of bullshit when he's spreading her legs later.

"Yeah, you bet. Little nerd, that's what he is," he smirks and his heart still hurts a little.

She leans even closer and whispers in his ear, her breath smelling like rum and coke and cheap cigarette smoke, "why don't you tell me more outside?"

Dean smirks and moves over to the counter to pay. Katie waits for him by the door, leaning against a wall but still swaying a little. Dean walks over to her and drags her outside on his forearm and her hand is between his legs before they even make it to the car.

Later that night Dean recieves one single birthday wish saying, _Happy birthday son_.

* * *

It's been four years since Sam left for college when Dean's back in Louisiana. He thinks it's pretty ironic to be there right now at this point in his life.

It's also been three weeks since Dean last saw Dad and they might not see each other often anymore but they keep meeting up every now and then and Dad always calls, keeping up with Dean and keeping Dean up with him.

But Dad hasn't called for _three weeks_ straight and when he did - to put it frankly – it scared Dean shitless.

Now Dad is not answering his phone and Dean has no way of reaching him and he feels completely left alone.

And Dean's no good when he's alone so he decides to go to the only person who ever cared about Dean besides Dad. He's pretty sure that Sam is not going to be willing to help him but it's worth a shot because his brother might be the last chance Dean has.

"Vacation's over, Sammy," Dean mutters to himself as he gets into the Impala, puts in a Def Leppard tape and drives towards California.


End file.
